40
We found one in a closed two-car garage standing separate
from the house. We could see it through the window. It was a
Mercury Grand Marquis, metallic green, as long as an ocean
liner. It was the perfect car for a general’s wife. Not new, not
old, premium but not overpriced, suitable colour, American as
hell.
‘Think this is hers?’ Summer asked.
‘Probably,’ I said. ‘Chances are they had a Ford until he made
lieutenant colonel. Then they moved up to a Mercury. They
were probably waiting for the third star before they thought
about a Lincoln.’
‘Sad.’
‘You think? Don’t forget where he was last night.’
‘So where is she? You think she went out walking?’
We turned around and felt the breeze on our backs and heard
a door bang at the rear of the house.
‘She was out in the yard,’ Summer said. ‘Gardening, maybe.’
‘Nobody gardens on New Year’s Day,’ I said. ‘Not in this
hemisphere. There’s nothing growing.’
But we walked around to the front anyway and tried the bell
again. Better to let her meet us formally, on her own terms. But
she didn’t show. Then we heard the door again, at the back,
banging aimlessly. Like the breeze had gotten hold of it.
‘We should check that out,’ Summer said.
I nodded. A banging door has a sound all its own. It suggests
all kinds of things.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We probably should.’
We walked around to the rear of the house, side by side, into
the wind. There was a flagstone path. It led us to a kitchen
door. It opened inward, and it must have had a spring on the
back to keep it closed. The spring must have been a little weak,
because the gusting breeze was overpowering it from time to
time and kicking the door open eight or nine inches. Then the
gust would die away and the spring would reassert itself and
the door would bang back into the frame. It did it three times as
we watched. It was able to do it because the lock was smashed.
It had been a good lock, made of steel. But the steel had been
stronger than the surrounding wood. Someone had used a
wrecking bar. It had been jerked hard, maybe twice, and the
41
lock had held but the wood had splintered. The door had
opened up and the lock had just fallen out of the wreckage. It
was right there on the flagstone path. The door had a crescent
shaped bite out of it. Splinters of wood had been blown here and
there and piled by the wind.
‘What now?’ Summer said.
There was no security system. No intruder alarm. No pads,
no wires. No automatic call to the nearest police precinct. No
way of telling if the bad guys were long gone, or if they were
still inside.
‘What now?’ Summer said again.
We were unarmed. No weapons, on a formal visit in Class A
uniform.
‘Go cover the front,’ I said. ‘In case anyone comes out.’
She moved away without a word and I gave her a minute to
get in position. Then I pushed the door with my elbow and
stepped inside the kitchen. Closed the door behind me and
leaned on it to keep it shut. Then I stood still and listened.
There was no sound. No sound at all.
The kitchen smelled faintly of cooked vegetables and stewed
coffee. It was big. It was halfway between tidy and untidy. A
well-used space. There was a door on the other side of the
room. On my right. It was open. I could see a small triangle of
polished oak floor. A hallway. I moved very slowly. Crept
forward and to the right to line up my view. The door banged
again behind me. I saw more of the hallway. I figured it ran
straight to the front entrance. Off of it to the left was a closed
door. Probably a dining room. Off of it to the right was a den or
a study. Its door was open. I could see a desk and a chair and
dark wood bookcases. I took a cautious step. Moved a little more.